


Death Did Us Part

by TreeTopHeart



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Dreams, Dreamscapes, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Gore, Seven Deadly Sins, Seven Heavenly Virtues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:07:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25961044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TreeTopHeart/pseuds/TreeTopHeart
Summary: In the wake of Maeve’s death, Dr. Spencer Reid does not sleep. He does not sleep for so long that once he finally does, he has a series of intense, probably symbolic dreams. The mysterious figures of his dreams help him to realize that healing is ugly, but even ugly is better than nothing.Rooting around the depths of my documents folder, I found this. I wrote it back when I was fifteen and it’s actually much better than I would have given myself for, especially knowing how old I was when I wrote it. I worry that I was a better writer then, tbh.
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Maeve Donovan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Death Did Us Part

The first night of Maeve’s death, Dr. Spencer Reid did not sleep. He went into work the next morning wearing the same clothes as he had yesterday, rumpled from sitting slumped against his door watching the sun rise.

People stared at him in the elevator and whispered throughout the corridor. The back of his eyes itched and it felt as if he were back in school again, the popular kids huddled in the corner making faces as he passed. As soon as Hotch saw him in the bullpen, he sent him home.

The next day Dr. Reid returned to work, wearing the same clothes and not having eaten since the gun had exploded in front of him; spattering him with the faintest whispers of blood, not quite thick enough to be seen. The whispers got louder. This time when Hotch saw him, he brought Reid into his office and explained to him that he needed to take time off.

“As much time as you need.” He said.

Spencer batted his eyelashes in confusion for a moment as he tried to process what that meant. After a terse moment of silence, he nodded and left.

He lasted two more days without sleep before he passed out on the floor of his apartment. Suffering from dehydration, malnutrition, and sleep deprivation his dreams were nightmares from which it seemed that he might never wake from.

He was frozen in place, sitting in that damn chair, as he watched Maeve walk around him. She circled him in an almost predatory fashion, looking him straight in the eyes. She tilted her head and stepped towards the small folding table in the middle of the room. She reached for the gun sitting in the center of the tabletop, put it against the left side of her temple and pulled back the safety.

“Spencer,” She whispered to him and stepped closer, “Spencer, just know that it wouldn’t have been that hard…” She trailed off and furrowed her brow before she spoke again, “You could have saved me.”

“How?” The choked sound his voice made as it was ripped out of his throat made him flinch, Maeve just cocked her head.

“You’re supposed to be the genius, why didn’t you know how to save me?” She was closer now, almost close enough that their lips could have touched. But if Spencer noticed their close proximity it was lost on him at that moment as he desperately tried to explain. _Explain what?_ The logical center of his brain asked him, _there is nothing to explain. You couldn’t have done anything._

Maeve listened for a few minutes to his babbled excuses before she smiled and pulled the trigger. Her blood and hit him first before little flecks of grey joined it. He tried not to think about it, tried not to notice how he was blinded by the gore and how the blood on his eyelids blocked out all of the light in dim rom. A trail of hot salted water cleared tracks of blood from his face as he sat there.

A figure approached him from behind, and for a moment he feared Maeve was back again. He had been reliving this loop for what had seemed like years at this point, the same conversation and actions and yet, each time the pain were real. Each time the wound was ripped open, it bled and became fresh again.

The footsteps approached him from behind and someone gently touched his shoulder. Long fingers ghosted over his back and he jumped when he heard the scrape of a chair being moved. Still afraid to turn around, Spencer closed his eyes only to snap them open again when a silk blindfold was placed on his face.

“Maeve…” He whimpered, shaking his head viciously as two hands rested on his shoulders.

The owner of the hands hummed quietly and gently, with one finger, pushed his neck to one side, exposing his jugular. His head shaking stopped and his breathing stilled as the person behind him murmured in his ear, “I’m not Maeve.”

He swallowed nervously, what new torture was he about to endure? The voice belonged to a woman, that much he could tell, but as for who she was he drew a blank. The woman took his wrist and pulled him to his feet.

“Who are you?” He asked while trying not to panic any more than he already was. With Maeve he had known what was going to happen but this… this was something new.

The woman stopped her humming to reply, “Today, my name is Patience. Tomorrow it will be Greed.” She paused for a moment and Spencer bumped into her and lost his balance. He fell backwards and the hand not being grasped by the unknown woman, stretched out behind him to try and brace his fall. Instead of landing on the expected concrete he dropped backwards onto a bed. It was at this moment that he recognized his situation as a dream.

With his newfound control he lifted his hands to the blindfold and untied it, his fingers fumbling with the loose knot. The silk blindfold fell into his lap, but his eyes still remained closed, afraid of what he might see. He heard the woman pad softly towards him and he couldn’t help but flinch when she wiped at some of the blood on his cheeks.

“Spencer?” She asked his name like a question or a choice that he had yet to make.

Reid gritted his teeth in determination before opening his eyes. The woman in front of him was gold. No, a slight shake of his head cleared his vision, she had gold skin, a petite frame clothed in grey robes and dark hair which reached her waist. He watched as she shook her head and pursed her lips.

She pushed him over and straddled his chest; her hair fell like a curtain around the two of them.

“Patience,” Reid began, unsure of what else to call her, “What are you doing?”

She shook her head and put a cold finger to his lips, “Not what you think I am.”

Reid blinked slowly before watching as she rolled to the side and curled up next to him. Her head rested comfortably on his chest and her legs intertwined with his. She continued her humming and the vibrations reverberated through her tiny body.

She paused in her humming to speak, “You need to tell me something, Spencer. Do it.”

Without meaning to, he relaxed into her body. He wondered whether or not he should confess the way he was itching to, try and explain the overwhelming guilt that he felt. In an instant he had his decision, this was a dream and therefore she was a projection of his tired mind and no threat. “My heart hurts.” He told her.

He could feel her nod her head, “I know.”

####

He woke up with his face resting uncomfortably on the floor and his neck crooked at an awkward angle. Reid sat up straight to see the sun setting through his window; he had been sleeping for at least a day. Longer than he had in… he swallowed, in a while.

For the first time in days, he thought about food. Reid walked into his small kitchen and fumbled through the cabinets for a glass before filling it with water.

After his third glass, he dropped it into the side of the sink that was filled with dirty water and various other dishes he had yet to clean. The sudden impulse to wash the dishes hiding in the bottom of the sink tingled in his fingers. He reached a hand into the murky water to once again grasp his glass when he felt something slice into his lower wrist. His hand clutched the offending object and pulled it out of the dark water to reveal a long knife. Blood dripped from his wrist onto the white tile of the counter. It was hypnotizing to watch as the dark pools of blood formed and ran in little rivulets through the grout and onto the floor. He furrowed his brow and reached for a towel to clean up the mess and then rummaged through yet more cabinets for his first aid kit. With shaking fingers he disinfected the cut and wrapped up his wrist. He had lost enough blood to feel slightly woozy but still functional.

He walked back into the living room and surveyed the disarray. Books were flung about the room while the one Maeve has given him was sitting on coffee table alone. A circle of tranquility surrounded it like a blast zone. There was no clutter within a yard’s radius from it. A wave of dizziness hit him and he sank to his knees, propping himself up against the door. He stared at the book until a voice on the other side of the door interrupted his solitude.

He could hear what sounded like Garcia as she walked up to the door and knocked.

“Reid?” She asked.

He made no move to respond.

“Spencer?” She tried again, “I know that you must be feeling…” She trailed off in search of the word, “…Sad but I think that it would be good for you to talk to someone.”

Silence.

“Just,” She sighed, “Just know that I’m here if you ever want to talk, okay?” Her voice cracked and her usually sunny disposition replaced with something more somber.

Reid’s head dropped into his hands as he thought about replying. What was he supposed to say? _I’m fine Penelope, I just watched the woman I loved have her brains blown out but I’ll be okay in a little bit. Oh, the bandage on my wrist? It’s not what you think, I promise. No, really, I just cut myself. No, not like that, look, I have to go now is there any chance that you won’t tell anybody else on the team about the fact that I’m thinner than usual and that my apartment is destroyed everywhere except around the book Maeve gave me? Or maybe not discount the fact that I was ever so tempted just to sink to my knees and watch my blood drip off of my kitchen counter? No, oh well. Talk to you later._ No, that wasn’t about to happen so Spencer said nothing.

“Okay, I’m going to go now. I’ll be back to see you soon, okay?” Penelope Garcia sat something down in front of his door that crinkled before retreating back down the stairs.

Spencer didn’t move. He looked towards the table and stared at Maeve’s last gift to him, his eyes glazed over and eventually he fell asleep to the memory of a gunshot and blood.

####

He opened his eyes to take in his dreamscape. It was a large concrete box structure filled with various forms of furniture. A chandelier hung from the ceiling casting a golden light down onto the ornamental wooden bed, nightstand, dresser, vanity, closet, and a trunk that sat at the foot of the bed. He cast his eyes over the sizeable room until he saw the door. He got off of the bed and took a step towards it.

The door opened and in walked Patience. She quickly turned and shut the exit behind her, keeping Spencer from glimpsing whatever was on the other side of it. She leaned against the only means of egress and said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Do what?” Reid asked her, noting her change in clothing as she’d gone from grey to gold.

Patience raised an eyebrow, “You know what I’m talking about.”

Reid ignored her and looked around the room again, stopping when he noticed what he was wearing. Blue pinstripe pajamas and a, what was that? He felt around his neck to find a thick leather cord that was secured to a heavy golden key. He touched the key gingerly and could feel heat radiating off of it in waves. He thought about removing it from around his neck but decided against it, something in his gut told him to keep it exactly where it was.

Patience bit the inside of her cheek as she watched him handle the key. Spencer noticed and furrowed his brow, Patience seemed… off.

She made a strange growling noise in the back of her throat and said, “That’s mine.”

Without thinking Spencer shook his head, “No, I don’t think that it is.”

She narrowed her eyes menacingly and muttered something along the lines of ‘not yet.’

Something occurred to Spencer and he asked, “What’s your name?”

The woman smiled at being recognized, “Greed if you must know, although I prefer Avarice, either works.”

Spencer nodded slowly, it made sense. This was a dreamscape and yesterday’s dream girl, Patience, had told him that she would be Greed tomorrow. In addition to that, the change in her clothing was evidence to support his dawning conclusion.

“Gold,” He started, “It is the colored representation of Greed… or Avarice. And grey robes for Patience.” He looked down at his clothes again, “Blue is of...” He swallowed, “Sloth, signifying the frozen nature of the soul and body.”

Avarice looked impressed, “Genius figured it out, congratulations.”

Spencer frowned, “So this all goes back the Christian depictions of the seven sins and virtues? Why?”

Avarice shrugged, “Why should I care?” She made another furtive glance at the key.

“Are there are more of you?” He questioned, “All fourteen?”

Avarice bared her teeth, “Who cares. You wishing I was someone else?” After a moment of thought she added, “Perhaps someone with an altogether unnerving passion for literary discussion? And a truly unfortunate fashion sense?” All the while she had been talking; she had been advancing on Spencer. Avarice reached a hand out towards him and grasped the key in her fist. “But like I said before, this is mine.”

Spencer took a step backwards and the back of his legs bumped into the bed. She took another step closer and he was overwhelmed with the feeling that if he let Avarice have the key he would regret it deeply.

“Spencer,” She whined, “Give it to me.” She tugged at the cord around his neck. He gently unclasped her fingers from around the key and she took a step away from him and sighed.

She made a sudden lunge at him and he sidestepped it just in time. Avarice rolled onto the bed and swore vehemently.

“What does it unlock?” He queried as she struggled to untangle herself from the sheets.

She rolled her eyes and pointed at the chest at the foot of the bed. Spencer approached it and took a knee in order to unlock it. He opened it to reveal a chest full of… _oh my God, are those real Spanish doubloons?_ He pulled a fistful of gold coins and then let them fall through his fingers back into the chest.

He raised his head and looked at Avarice, “Is this,”

She nodded slowly, “A real life treasure chest? Yes.” She crawled towards the end of the bed and lay down on her stomach. She took a gold coin and put it between her teeth.

He stared at her as she removed it and stared at the clear imprint her bite had left in it.

“It’s mine, Spencer.”

He shook his head, “This is my dream, so technically its mine.”

She rummaged through the wooden chest before tugging out a silver necklace studded with diamonds and rubies. She dangled it in front of herself and replied, “If it’s a dream, then it shouldn’t matter whose this is. It’s not real.”

He looked down into the chest and picked up a delicate golden crown. He turned it around in his hands, examining it, “So by that logic, you think that it should be yours?”

She smiled at him and fastened the necklace around her neck. “Now you’re getting it.”

Avarice rolled off the bed and walked to where he was sitting in front of the chest. She took the crown out of his hands and placed it on her head. Her dark curls lay across her shoulders and framed her face. She reached forward and with a mighty tug, the chest was tipped on its side. The contents of it covered the floor in seconds like a flash flood of gold coins and precious stones. She sat down next to him and touched her fingers to his pulse.

She looked at him with wide eyes, “None of this makes your heart beat any faster than normal…” She tilted her head, “All of these, precious things... how can you be so uninterested about any of this?”

He shook his head and removed her fingers from his neck, “It isn’t real.”

“Says you.”

“I’m dreaming.”

“How do you know that this isn’t real life? How do you know that when you go to sleep in your apartment that you aren’t really waking up?” She asked him, frowning.

“I don’t.” He replied truthfully.

She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, “How do you know that Maeve wasn’t just a nightmare?”

He pushed her away from him at this. “None of this is real.” His voice was raised, “You aren’t and nothing else here is either.” He seized her crown and broke it in half. “See? It’s only plastic.”

Her face contorted into fury, “How can you say that?” She snatched the pieces of her crown from his hands and tried to fit them back together again. When she failed, she threw them at the end of the room and they bounced off of the wall.

A tear ran down her face as she yanked off the silver necklace which had turned into candy. “You bastard! You ruined _everything_!” Avarice grabbed a handful of coins and chucked them at his head.

Spencer ducked and watched as the coins around him morphed into chocolate.

Avarice’s gentle sobs came from next to him where she was hiding her head in her hands. Her hair fell in front of her face and it reminded him of when Patience had curled up next to him. Both women were identical in physique; the only real difference between them was their clothing and personalities. He listened to her cry quietly and realized that it was his fault. He had shattered her fantasy of wealth, he had upset her. He thought back to Patience and what she had done for him.

She hadn’t asked him to talk about anything in particular, just been open to whatever he chose to tell her.

Spencer inched towards Avarice like one might a skittish animal. He sat next to her and cautiously set a hand on her shoulder. “You have something to tell me.” He repeated Patience’s words, his breath brushing the back of her neck, disturbing the small hairs there.

She refused to look at him and tried to remove herself from his grasp.

“Avarice,” His voice was sharper than he had intended. He took a breath and corrected his tone. “I’m not very good with things like this,” He hesitated, “Please help me.”

She took a shuddering breath and looked up at him. From this distance, he could see dark circles under her eyes. He hadn’t noticed before. She reached a hand towards his neck again only to grab the key instead. In response to her touch it got hotter. Much, hotter. She released the key and it burned red hot on his skin. Spencer yelped in pain. He tried to remove it, but the cord attached to it had shrunken to the point where it was impossible to move it, let alone get it off.

“Do you want me to take it now?” She asked, “Do you want me to have the only thing that’s really gold in this room?”

The key had become hotter and he could feel his skin start to blister in response.

“Give it to me and it won’t burn anymore.” She pushed his hair out of his face as it twisted in agony. “It’ll only get worse, let me take it.” She blew cold air onto his neck. Tears still rolled down her cheeks but she looked at him with pity instead of anger or sadness.

Spencer clawed at the key franticly, she had tricked him. This is what she had wanted the whole time.

Avarice grasped his hands. “Spencer, let me take it. Just know that if you give it to me you’re not going to get it back. It’ll leave a hollow feeling, reminding you of what you could have had if you’d just kept it. Do you understand?”

“What happens if I don’t…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, the key was starting to burn a hole through his throat.

She looked at him sadly, “I leave and you don’t ever see me again. Sometimes you don’t get a second chance, haven’t you learned that already? This is the end and suicidal ideation is just the start. No one can be allowed to remain this stagnant.” She ran a finger across his throat as if cutting it. “You’re wasting away.”

Spencer said nothing.

“Will you give me the key?” Avarice prompted.

After a moment he nodded, it was still a dream, he reminded himself.

Avarice untied the knotted cord and removed it from his neck before retying it around hers. The smell of burnt skin permeated the air and Spencer gingerly touched the red skin where the key had been. Avarice hadn’t been lying when she said it would leave him empty. He felt hollow without it, like there had been something weighing him down and now he was free. Not free in a good way either, free in the way you feel after you crawl out from under your blankets in the morning, cold.

A tear from earlier rolled down Avarice’s neck, when it hit the key it sizzled.

“That’s still hot.” He told her.

She blinked slowly, “I never said it would be any different for me.”

“Then why’d you ask to take it?”

“I’m Avarice, remember?”

“Doesn’t it hurt?” He made a move to touch the key but thought better of it when the burn in his neck began to ache.

“Does it matter?” She asked him with a frown, “I’m not real, remember?”

He swallowed in regret of his words.

“See this?” She leaned forward and blew on the burn in his neck again. “That feeling you have? The emptiness? That’s what my sin feels like.”

“Your sin?” He asked and she raised an eyebrow. It dawned on him and he felt stupid, “Oh.”

“Nice to see your brain is good for something, genius.”

He thought for a moment, “What did the key represent?”

“Your girlfriend,” Avarice spit her words out bitterly and Spencer stiffened at the resentful tone.

“And what do you represent?” He continued carefully and she frowned.

“Why does everything have to represent something? You think that this is a dream, remember?” When he didn’t reply she added quietly, “I remember.”

He stayed silent and she turned around, leaning into him.

He shifted uncomfortably, wary of how close she was.

His fidgeting eventually got on her nerves and she looked back towards him irritably. “Stop moving.” His face gave away his uneasiness and she said, “If you want me to get up and move I will.” Her eyes turned hard, “Word of warning, I don’t handle rejection well. Especially when it means that I don’t get what I want.” With a slight smile she said, “I’m greedy like that.”

She once again rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. “What do you want Spencer?”

“What do you mean?” He asked, puzzled.

With her eyes still closed she said, “Everybody wants something, everybody is greedy for something. What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” He began but she cut his lie off midsentence.

“Don’t lie to me, I already know. Admit it to yourself. What fills that hollow space above your throat?”

“Maeve.” He finally confessed, “Maeve does.”

She snorted, “I figured that was still the case.”

“Does that change?” He asked her.

She opened her olive green eyes looked into his brown ones, “Only if you want it to.”

He woke up and it was dark outside once again.


End file.
